Tortallan MiniFiction
by Hedgewitchery
Summary: Short fics, drabbles, ficlets written for LJ community tammydrabbles.
1. The morning after the night before

**A/N: **tammydrabbles prompt 13: "the morning after the night before"

**Disclaimer:** Tamora Pierce's characters and plot.

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**The morning after/_The night before_**

He woke alone in his bed, disoriented by her lingering scent—alien, exotic, yet so familiar once.

"_Surprised to see me?" she says coquettishly, and he _is_ surprised: she never used to be coquettish. Or perhaps this is the tone he used to think of as seductive._

Had he really done that? Gone to bed with her, again, after all these years? Well, yes, he had; stupid to attempt denial. And why? Well, she was beautiful, of course. She always had been, and that had been reason enough, many times. And she was eager, and he was—best to face the facts—lonely and afraid.

"_Are you sure it's appropriate for you to be here?" he asks, half stalling, half genuinely concerned; she has a reputation to uphold, now, and she is under the Imperial eye. She laughs at him. "I've missed you," she says. "But I see you still take things much too seriously."_

What did it mean that she had gone before he woke? That (like him) she wished to avoid complications? That she had had second thoughts, had regretted coming to him in the first place? Or simply that it would not do for her to be found in this part of the palace in the morning? He felt a little ashamed at the magnitude of his relief that she had, at any rate, gone.

"_Ugh, I wish I could rid the palace of all these dead things," she says in disgust. She tosses her delicate monogrammed handkerchief over the stuffed vulture's head, and he has to admit that things are easier without those glassy eyes seeming to watch them._

He dragged himself to breakfast, feeling abused, only to find someone missing who should have been there. No one else had seen her; scrying failed to reveal her whereabouts, and searching only led him into what he would later realize was a dangerously stupid display of attachment. And there she was, after all, perfectly unharmed, though she seemed as ill at ease as he.

_She has learned new things since the last time—as who should not, in eight years? No doubt he has learned a great many new things as well, in this arena as in so many others. He isn't sure how he feels about this, about her insistence that she loves him still, has been waiting for him all this time, given the evidence to the contrary. Still, he can't deny that it is … pleasant. That in bed, at least, they do very well together. Bed, of course, was never the problem._

"You asked to speak to me," he said. "Let's go to my room." But of course they couldn't go alone, not the way Carthakis think; they needed a chaperone, and so there were three of them when he opened the door to his bedchamber and, too late, remembered the handkerchief, and the scent. "Did _Varice_ have a chaperone?" he heard her murmur to their companion. For no reason that he could articulate, he felt acutely embarrassed.

"_You've never married, either." It is a statement rather than a question. "No," he agrees, and there is no more to say. She would like him to tell her that she is the reason for this, but of course he can't, or not in the way she hopes._

Her news was bizarre, possibly dangerous, certainly astounding. This new and inexplicable power could not have been more ill timed. And, worse, on the way out, she murmured to him, "You shouldn't have tried to hit him. I don't think he liked it."

"_I would have come with you," she says. He knows what she wants him to say, and how much she wants it; but there are lies, and lies. "I'm sorry," he says instead. _

Only now did he realize how thunderously stupid he had been, how perfectly he had played into his enemy's hands. He wished there was some way to take back those words, those actions, to protect her from the looming danger. "I'm sorry," he said instead. But she was already too far away to hear.


	2. Ringing the changes

**A/N: **LJ tammydrabbles prompt 14: "weapon of choice"  
Words: 337  
Characters: Sarralyn & Rikash  
A little riff on growing up, first love, feeling misunderstood, and how girls and boys mature at different rates.

**

* * *

Ringing the Changes**

Twelve-year-old Rikash, sprawled on his belly on Sarralyn's bed, watches his sister dress for a Midwinter party. He is on holiday from the Royal University; she has been visiting some friend or other, an invitation their parents didn't much like but didn't quite dare refuse.

She is different than she used to be, when they were children, and Rikash isn't sure what to make of some of the changes.

Sarra never used to spend so much time in front of the mirror, for one thing. "You look pretty," he ventures, and she turns to glare at him.

"_Pretty_ just won't do, I'm afraid," she says, mocking. "The daughters of the noble houses are being presented to the King and Queen tonight."

She turns back to the mirror, leaving her brother more puzzled than before. "You aren't being presented, are you?" he asks.

Sarra's tone grows even more scathing: "Of _course_ not. Don't be so _stupid._"

Rikash is confused and hurt, and he has never been good at hiding his feelings. She sees his face in the mirror, and suddenly her expression softens—just a little. "We don't have noble blood," she explains, abandoning the mirror to perch next to him on the bed. He rolls over and looks up at her face—their father's glossy black hair and long nose, their mother's large, expressive blue-grey eyes—and sees something there that he has never associated with his sister: a kind of desperation.

"We don't have noble blood," Sarra repeats, "so if I want L—if I want young men to notice me, notice me enough to defy their parents' wishes, I need something else, something _better._"

And she hops down from the bed, strikes a dramatic pose that emphasizes her ever-so-slightly-too-revealing neckline, and leans toward her brother with what a slightly older boy would easily recognize as a come-hither look in her eyes.

"_This_," she murmurs huskily, "is my weapon of choice this evening. What do you think, little brother?"

Rikash sits up abruptly, flushing scarlet, and flees.


	3. Words of power

**tammydrabbles prompt 15 (14 July): Power (or lack thereof)**

**Title:** Words of Power

**Words:** 212

**Characters:** Arram Draper, Tristan Staghorn

* * *

"Come out to the practice yards with me?"

"Can't—I'm swotting up Words of Power."

"So you are. Mithros! Look at that one!"

"Stop reading over my shoulder. It's very distracting."

"My deepest apologies, your red-robed mage-ness. Here's another that looks useful—turns your enemy into a tree. By Shakith, I'd like to try that!"

"You always forget to read the caveats. Look—somewhere else it will turn a tree into a man. This stuff is _dangerous_, you know. They're called 'Words of Power' for a _reason._"

"Power. That's what it's all about, isn't it?"

"Of course it isn't! What about knowledge? Discovery? Learning?"

"Only _you_ would ask that question. Means to an end, my friend. Means to an end."

"Well, then: What about friendship? What about _love_?"

"Bagatelles. And, what's more, power attracts them. Or perhaps you hadn't noticed?"

"Perhaps. But—what about—responsibility? The more power, the more—"

"Nonsense. Quite the reverse. Look at—"

"Yes, I suppose."

"If I turned _you_ into a tree—"

"He'd have you executed. I'm his best friend."

"This month, yes."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"If you understood power, you'd know."

"I understand it perfectly well, thank you. Shut up and go away, or I'll demonstrate."

"Some other time, Arram. Some other time."


	4. Force of habit

**Prompt 16 – Habit (21 July)**

Title: _Force of Habit_  
Words: 177  
Characters: Arram Draper, Varice Kingsford

* * *

For at least the thousandth time they have argued – shouted at each other – said things they regret. Doors have been slammed; things have exploded. 

Her lack of ambition, her lack of interest in the things that drive him, all this is incomprehensible: _If you wanted to spend your life in the kitchens, why come to the University at all?_ He mutters. _You could have stayed at home and apprenticed to a pastrycook._

She is frustrated by his failure to understand her reasoning and, more to the point, by his failure to even _try_ to understand her feelings. _The world doesn't revolve around you, Arram, no matter how much you think it should._

All their disputes, no matter the apparent trigger, sooner or later come down to this.

Eventually, she looks so miserable that he apologizes, guilt-stricken, and tells her that of course her work is valuable, that he loves her, that he didn't mean what he said.

But his eyes tell her he's lying, and her triumph feels hollow. She's beginning to suspect that it always will.


	5. Cold fire

**tammydrabbles Prompt 17 (28 July) – Misunderstood**

**Title:** Cold Fire

**Words:** 128

Feat. Arram Draper

* * *

Arram was six years old the first time he made something explode.

It wasn't his fault -- not exactly. He meant well, of course. (He always does.)

He knew the spell, of course; he had seen and heard people lighting fires with their Gifts all his life. He had never tried it himself before, but how difficult could it be?

After the fires were out and the shouting had stopped, he tried to explain: He had only been trying to light the kitchen fire so that when Mama came downstairs she wouldn't be cold.

His father remained tight-lipped and unhearing. But later, when Papa had gone out to see the carpenter and the thatcher, Mama beckoned Arram over to her and hugged him, brushing his sooty, tear-stained cheek with her lips.


	6. Beautiful

**Prompt 18 (4 August) -- Facial expressions**

**Title: **Beautiful

**Words: **118

**Characters:** D/N, J/T, A/G, K/K, A/N ... you choose. (Heck, you can make it R/B or Gary/Cythera or Kel/whoever, if you want.)

* * *

He is so accustomed to thinking of her as beautiful that it is rather a shock to notice that, at the moment, she is anything but. Her red-rimmed eyes are bloodshot; damp tendrils of hair stick to her ashen face. She is sitting on the edge of their bed, retching violently into the ceramic basin on her knees.

The retching subsides; she takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks up at him, eyes swimming, miserable and ashamed of her weakness.

He takes the basin away, hands her a mug of water, gently wipes her face with his dampened handkerchief.

She gives him a shaky smile.

Seeing it, he blinks; his vision clears, and he sees her as she is.

_Beautiful._


	7. Menace

**tammydrabbles prompt 19 (11 August): meal time**

**Title: **Menace

**Words:** 117

**Characters: **Kel, Neal, Yuki

There is a profound silence around the table.

"Please tell me I heard that wrong," says Neal at last.

Yuki frowns at him, an almost imperceptible twitch of lips and delicate brows; Kel, her delighted smile faltering, shakes her head.

"The man's a menace," Neal continues. "He's left a trail of broken hearts from Persopolis to the Scanran border."

Kel shrugs. "I didn't say I was going to _marry_ him," she points out.

Neal looks, if that were possible, even more gob-smacked. He sits quite still, mouth agape, his plate growing cold before him.

"Close your mouth," Yuki advises him, eyes twinkling at Kel to show that she, at least, does not disapprove. "And eat your vegetables."


	8. Twenty Years

**tammydrabbles prompt 20 (18 August): Placebo Song Titles**

**Title:** Twenty Years

**Words:** 50

**Featuring** Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop & Olau

———

It's been twenty years, she realizes. Twenty years she has been King's Champion, and therefore twenty years since Thom died.

Twenty years she's been an only child. _But wasn't I always alone, really?_

Alanna doesn't miss her brother, she tells herself. She only misses the brother she wished she had.


	9. Duty calls

**tammydrabbles prompt 21 (24 August) – Irrationality**

**Title:** Duty Calls

**Words:** 96

**Characters:** Princess Shinkokami's parents

"You're being irrational," he tells her coldly, and she knows he is right. Not only irrational, but unbearably, unforgivably emotional.

"But she's my _daughter_," she chokes. "My only daughter. And it's so far away …"

"It is her duty, and ours. Shinkokami understands this. As must you."

Numbly she inclines her head, slowly bringing herself under control.

"When you have mastered yourself, you may speak with her," he adds, his voice softening almost imperceptibly as he notices, and approves, her efforts.

"I thank you, my lord." She bows, and watches him sweep out of the room.


	10. At first sight

**A/N: **If you are a dyed-in-the-wool Varice-hater, you probably won't like this one very much. Just FYI.

Usual **disclaimer**.

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**tammydrabbles prompt 22 (1 September) – Senses**

**Title: **At First Sight

**Words: **417

**Characters: **Arram Draper, Varice Kingsford

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By the time they meet, he has developed quite a reputation. Much of it is Ozorne's doing, of course – there is a certain cachet associated with being the Emperor's heir's best friend, even sometimes – but Arram likes to think that at least some of the girls are attracted to _him_ and not just to his friend's wealth and power.

Varice is different – he can see that right off, the first time she smiles up at him when he passes by, taking a short cut past a disused fountain because he is late for Master Lindhall's botany lecture. She's beautiful, of course: glossy honey-blonde hair, lambent blue eyes, a come-hither smile and curves in all the right places. But there are beautiful girls all over the city. What stops him in his tracks is something quite different.

This girl has magic, and lots of it. Not so great a Gift as Arram's own, or as Ozorne's – she'll never be a war mage, certainly – but so much more than many of their classmates that Arram is momentarily enthralled by the possibilities. Does she know how much she could accomplish? _Perhaps she'll let me teach her …_

"Hello," she says, a little shy, a little forward. Her voice is warm, a little husky.

Arram is so fascinated that he forgets his manners. "I haven't seen you here before," he says. "Are you a new student?"

She hides a smile behind elegantly manicured fingers. "I'm Varice Kingsford," she tells him. "And you're Arram Draper – I've heard all about you."

The way she says this makes him wonder just what she's heard, and from whom.

Varice stands up, in a whisper of silk, and takes a step toward him. Arram takes a deep breath; by now he has realized that he is in danger of making an utter fool of himself, and he concentrates very hard, for a moment or two, on the botany lecture he is missing right now.

Another step, and the subtle, exotic scent she is wearing fills his nostrils. "The campus is terribly confusing," she says. "I'm a little bit lost, and I thought perhaps you could help me find my next class."

"Of course," Arram replies, recovering a little. "It would be my pleasure." He offers her his arm in his best courtly manner, and she smiles shyly and tucks her hand through his elbow.

Her touch makes his heart pound, and it is some time before he remembers to ask her what her next class is.


	11. On a clear day

**tammydrabbles Prompt 23 (8 September) – New Things**

**Title: **On a Clear Day

**Words: **307

**Characters: **Miri, Evin

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"Are you sure about this?" Evin demands. He is balanced on the rail, big hands clenched white-knuckled in shrouds. 

Miri grins at his expression – naked terror only half covered by his customary bravado. "Of course I'm sure," she says cheerfully. "Been doing it since I was five years old."

She hops up beside him and scrambles forward, then flattens herself along the bowsprit, wriggling under the flying jib. After a moment she is past the bellied canvas; she turns on her belly and sits up, straddling the gently rocking bowsprit, to wave at her friend.

"See?" she calls back, raising her voice to be heard above the slap of waves against the hull below her. "Easy as riding a pony."

Evin mutters something; his voice is pitched far too low for Miri to hear, but she knows him well enough to guess that it includes the phrase "easy for you to say."

Eventually, he takes a cautious step toward her, then another, then mimics her actions, inching belly-down along the age-polished wood. Miri calls laughing encouragement, wondering whether she looked as silly as this the first time she tried to mount a pony.

When at last Evin reaches her, he looks a little green. "All right?" Miri asks him, and he nods, tight-lipped – not to be outdone by her, as usual. "Sit up, then, and have a look at the view," she urges.

Slowly, gingerly, he does so, clutching at wood and rope with both hands. When finally he raises his eyes to the clear, glorious view ahead, Miri hears him gasp in awe, and relives with him her own first venture out on the bowsprit, years and years ago. "It's _magical,_" he breathes.

"Like it, do you?" she grins. "You'll want to try this, too, then."

And she scoots closer to him – close enough to kiss.


	12. Duet in two moods

**tammydrabbles prompt 24 (15 September) – Accidents Happen**

**Title**: Duet in Two Moods

**Words**: 149

**Characters**: It's D/N, baby. How long did y'all think I could hold out?

* * *

_I. September_

"You're _what?_"

A sigh. "You heard what I said."

"I heard it, yes. I'm not sure I can believe it. How did this _happen?_"

"In the usual way, I imagine, Numair. I'm a shape-shifter, not—"

"That is _not_ what I meant, and well you know it."

A shrug. "Accidents happen, love."

"Magelet, there's a war on. This is hardly the best time to—"

"You know that, Numair, and I know it. I don't think – _it_ – does. That's rather too much to expect at this age, even for a child of _yours_."

* * *

_II. Midsummer_

"She's _sweet_, magelet. I can understand what everyone goes on about, now. They _are_ sweet when they're little."

"She is, rather. Now that, you know, she _is_ little …"

"Indeed. I think that the next time—"

"The _next_ time, Numair?"

A wicked grin. "Well, you know, magelet … accidents do happen."

* * *

**A/N:** There you have it: short, sweet, and super cheesy. Sorry -- I just couldn't resist. I hope nobody was expecting anything too profound ... ;)


	13. Out of the question

**Prompt 24 (22 September) – What If?**

**Title: **Out of the Question

**Words:** 214

**Characters: **Numair's parents

* * *

"He wants to do _what_?" Dzeroun Draper is purple-faced with astonished rage. "Does the boy think I'm made of money?" 

"Just consider it," his wife urges, her tone soothing, pacific. "The matter needn't be decided this moment."

"There's nothing to consider, Shoushan. Have you forgotten our three daughters? Where will their dowries come from if we spend the next six years paying through the nose for their brother to rub elbows with the nobility in Carthak?"

Shoushan Draper hesitates a moment; she ought to know better than to argue with him when he's in this mood, but she has a feeling that more is at stake here than her youngest son's latest mad whim. "The teachers all say the same," she points out. "That he's got more brains and more Gift than they know what to do with. Maybe … maybe he'd be better off at the University."

She can't quite bring herself to go on, to say, _Maybe we'd be better off, too._ She feels guilty enough just _thinking _that about Arram, who is a sweet boy, when all's said and done.

"That's as may be," Dzeroun says, with cold finality. "And when he can pay his own way, he can make his own choice. Here and now, it's out of the question."

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**A/N: **A note on the names: Since Aram (TP's presumed source for Arram) is an Armenian name, I gave his parents Armenian first names as well. In both cases the stress goes on the first syllable. 


	14. Apologies accepted

**tammydrabbles prompt 28 (15 October) – Circumstances**

**Title: Apologies Accepted**

**Words: 687**

**Characters: Daine, Numair, Skysong, Sarralyn & Rikash**

* * *

Daine has just spent the best part of three hours in the royal menagerie, tending a phenomenally ornery river-horse who has eaten a variety of things that do not agree with him. Despite her hasty ablutions in the bathhouse, mud remains in awkward places, and she is fairly sure that she smells like a southern Carthaki riverbed.

She is in a bad temper, and what she sees in her own sitting-room, when she opens the door to the Salmalín quarters, seems precisely calculated to make everything _just that little bit _worse.

The expensive Tyran carpet has all but vanished under an avalanche of pillow-feathers, broken toys, and other miscellaneous objects equally not intended to decorate sitting-room floors. And there, in the middle of this unmitigated disaster (well, not _quite_ unmitigated – as far as Daine can determine, no one is actually dead), are her two children.

Well, three children, really.

"Sarra," Daine says, in what even her five-year-old daughter must recognize as a dangerously even voice, "what have you been doing?"

Rikash hops up and down. Sarralyn opens her mouth to answer, but before she can speak, there is a flurry of whistles and burbles and trills from Kitten, who seems determined to explain everything.

"So," Daine concludes, when Kitten at last falls silent, "your Da had something very important to do, and he left Skysong in charge, is that it?"

All of them nod vigorously.

"And you thought you would have a pillow fight, and play catch, and jump on the sofa."

More nodding.

"In the sitting room."

And more – but less certain, now.

"Where I have _distinctly_ told you _not_ to play games with pillows. Or jumping. Or throwing things."

Three heads bob up and down, just once, almost imperceptibly. Sarralyn and Rikash are large-eyed and penitent; their erstwhile child-minder has gone an unbecoming shade of grey.

"_Right_." In the circumstances, there is not much use in blaming any of them for the mess; small children have parents for a reason, after all. "Come with me, all of you." She holds out a hand to each of the children. "We're going to have a little talk with your Da."

The door to Numair's workroom is, predictably, locked; Daine motions to Kitten to unlock it, and, without further ceremony, marches in.

"Magelet!" Numair is flustered, a little too obviously surprised. "Back so soon? I thought you would be hours …"

"The children tell me," Daine begins conversationally, "that you left Kitten in charge."

"Well, yes – in the circumstances – it was only for a few—"

"Approximately two and a half hours ago."

"… oh."

He looks apologetic – he is very good at this – and rises from his seat to move toward her.

Daine backs away.

She knows what he is trying to do, of course; she has not lived nigh on fifteen years with this man without learning a thing or two. If she gives in, if she lets him catch her eye or get within three feet of her, he will give her that particular look, or kiss her in that particular spot on the back of her neck, or put his hand on her shoulder in that particular way, and before she knows it she will have forgotten all his misdeeds and be dragging him into the bedroom and out of his clothes (not necessarily in that order). _Well, two can play at that game, Master Numair I'm-so-clever Salmalín._

"It looks to me as though all of them need a rest," she continues; and, indeed, Rikash is rubbing his eyes with one chubby fist, and Sarralyn is yawning. "I'll just go and put them down for their nap, shall I? And" (looking up at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes in that particular way that makes his ears go pink) "when you've finished tidying up the sitting-room, you can come and apologize _properly_."

Daine sweeps out of the workroom, shepherding children and dragonet before her, entirely conscious of the sway of her hips.

She can almost feel her husband's eyes on her, his mouth dropping open, the flush creeping up his neck.

"… Yes, Magelet."

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not at all sure how this fits the prompt, but it's what popped into my head. In those circumstances, what's a person to do? 


	15. Taking advantage

tammydrabbles prompt 29 (21 October) – Restraint

**Title:** Taking Advantage

**Words:** 152

**Characters:** Keladry of Mindelan, Domitan of Masbolle

* * *

Neal and Yuki, Kel reflects, can be very hard to take.

She does realize, of course, that they've been separated for months, and are happy to see each other (Neal has mentioned this from time to time, perhaps once every five minutes for the past three weeks). Perfectly understandable. But if they don't stop giving each other those melting glances, and kissing each other in public, and hanging over each other's shoulders—

"It's nauseating, isn't it," says a familiar voice at her ear.

"Thoroughly," Kel replies, folding her arms and turning to see Dom standing behind her, grinning from ear to ear. "I'd have thought Yuki, at least, could show a little restraint."

"Now, Keladry," her friend reproaches her, his blue eyes dancing, "where would be the fun in that?"

Then, so quickly that she can't be sure she hasn't imagined it, he kisses her cheek and melts away into the crowd.


	16. You'll get used to it

**tammydrabbles Prompt 30 (27 October) – Occupational Hazards**

**Title:** You'll Get Used to It

**Words:** 344

**Characters: **Squire Nealan of Queenscove, Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop & Olau

* * *

"You're joking." Nealan of Queenscove looks down at his knight-mistress in horrified disbelief. 

At the moment, Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau does not look as though she has ever joked in her life. "You understand, don't you," she says severely, glaring upward with folded arms, "why you're here? You did have _some _idea what being my squire was going to involve?"

"I …" Neal is not sure what to say to this, since the answer is both _yes_ and _Great Mithros, no!_ "No one mentioned, er, this _particular_ aspect of the job," he ventures.

Alanna snorts. "Do I look like a foreteller? I'm mentioning it now, Queenscove – what you see is what you get. Now, get your things and meet me in the stables in a quarter-hour. Yes?"

"Yes, my lady."

There is another snort as Neal's small, redheaded tormentor strides away.

* * *

When squire and knight-mistress return to the fort at Pirate's Swoop late the following evening, they are wet and dirty, bedraggled and hungry, and in a matched pair of foul moods. Alanna has the advantage of an enthusiastic greeting from her husband; Neal, who has no one to sweep him away for a hot bath and assorted cuddling and, besides, has to unsaddle and groom both horses before he can even get out of his wet clothes, is feeling so sorry for himself by the end of this process that he seriously considers abandoning his obviously ill-judged decision to change occupations. 

Returning to his bedroom after visiting the bathhouse, however, he is greeted by the tempting aroma of venison stew and fresh bread – no vegetables in sight, though they're probably hiding in all that gravy – rising from a tray on the desk, and his sense of bitter injustice recedes marginally.

A folded piece of parchment catches his eye as he reaches eagerly into the bread-basket. _You'll get used to it,_ it reads, in an unfamiliar hand; _Think of it as an occupational hazard of knowing the Lioness._

Neal has no idea how much his snort of derisive laughter resembles Alanna's.

* * *

**A/N:** What does Neal mean when he says "No one mentioned this particular aspect of the job"? No idea. Use your imagination ;). 


	17. What was I thinking?

**tammydrabbles Prompt 26 – "Too Many Perspectives about One Gods-Blest Thing"**

**Title:** What Was I Thinking?

**Words:** 246

**Feat.** Alanna

* * *

He's an arrogant pig. To think I'd give up everything I've worked for – _killed_ for, gods damn it! – to put on a silk dress and sit beside him smiling at people I hate – just because we –

Though I have to admit, it's not that I didn't love him … don't. I do love him. But I don't love what he's become.

Just because we slept together a few times –

More than a few. Yes, definitely more than a few. But if I'd known he would think it meant _this –_

And what did _I_ think it meant? There are always consequences, after all. Everything we do, everything anyone does, has consequences.

George wouldn't have reacted like that.

What? What, in Mithros' name, does _George_ have to do with it?

No, I don't love George enough for that, either. I don't, do I? I don't want to be Queen of the Rogue any more than I want to be Queen of Tortall – perish the thought! I'm nobody's gods-blest queen.

I _certainly_ don't love what I'll become if I marry Jon. Neither will he – he just doesn't know it yet.

I need to think. I need time to think.

I am thinking.

No, I'm not! This isn't thinking – this is raving. If I don't get out of here, I'll be tearing out my hair and eating insects before I know it.

This is all Jon's fault! Or Duke Roger's. Or Thom's. Or maybe George's –

No it's not. It's mine.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, it's totally disjointed and doesn't make any sense. That's on purpose. :) 


	18. Morning

**tammydrabbles Prompt 27 – Colours**

**Title:** Morning

**Words: **98

**Characters:** D/N

* * *

He wakes before her, and gazes raptly at her sleeping face, the slightly parted lips, the long lashes lying against the sleep-flushed cheeks.

Birds sing.

He can't quite believe that she is here, that this is true; and at the same time it all seems inevitable.

Her hair and his mingle on the pillow between their faces, silky black with smoky brown; her head is on his arm, her hand over his heart, pale skin against dark.

She opens those beloved blue-grey eyes – perhaps she felt him staring – and smiles a sleepy smile.

Well, perhaps not _entirely_ sleepy.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, folks, it's another dose of pure, unashamed fluff. 


	19. Patience

**tammydrabbles prompt 31 (3 November) – Virtues**

**Title: **Patience  
**Words: **243  
**Characters: **La famille Salmalín

_

* * *

Patience is a virtue, Magelet – one you should learn to cultivate. —Numair Salmalín _

* * *

"Be _patient_, Rikash," Ma admonishes, as he tries to wriggle away. "You're not going anywhere till you've had your hair brushed, and the more you thrash about, the longer it'll take." 

It's become a morning ritual, this set-to with the hairbrush.

"When _I _was your age, _I _never made such a fuss, did I, Ma?" Sarralyn is leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, wearing shirt and breeches and a mocking, superior smile.

"You had your moments," Ma says darkly, still struggling with a particularly knotty patch at the crown of Rikash's head.

The next move in the game is his, and he duly makes it, suddenly going limp as a Yamani noodle and slithering through Ma's grasp to land with a thump on his posterior. "Ri_kash_!" she says, halfway between weary and annoyed. "We could have been done with this by now, you know."

"He knows," Sarra smirks; "he just thinks this way is more fun."

Rikash puts his tongue out at his sister.

Then, suddenly, he scrambles to his feet and stands, perfectly still, precisely where Ma wants him to. Sarra frowns, puzzled: _this_ isn't part of the game.

"Trouble with the children, Magelet?" Da's deep voice, coming from high above Sarralyn's head, is quietly amused.

"Your son," says Ma (still brushing), "could stand to learn a little patience."

"Indeed?" Da's left eyebrow goes up, and his mouth quirks up to match it. "And what, my darling, would _you_ know about patience?"


	20. Pride goeth

**tammydrabbles prompt 32 (10 November) – Seven Deadly Sins**

**Title: **Pride Goeth …

**Words: **179

Feat. Delia of Eldorne

* * *

In the days and weeks that follow the infamous duel, Delia sometimes wishes that she had had less pride.

The marriage her parents tried to persuade her into would have been dreadfully dull and insipid, it's true; she would not trade her months at the Royal Palace, where for the first time she has felt truly in her element, for anything. But to have had everything – all the young knights and squires wrapped round her finger; Duke Roger's protection, and Prince Jonathan at her beck and call – and then to lose it, is enough to mortify the proudest of women.

But soon enough these regrets and self-recriminations vanish. Jonathan she may have lost, but Jonathan is a weak-willed fool; if the red-headed hussy had killed _him_, Delia thinks scornfully, he would simply have stayed dead. And she has more power than ever, now – though not so much as she will have one day. Roger is in the ascendant, and when he is King and she sits at his side, the whole kingdom will acknowledge that her pride was justified.

_(With apologies for anything I've seriously messed up through not having read the Alanna books recently)

* * *

_

**A/N:** I don't think I like this one very much -- but I'm posting it anyway, to see what people think of my first attempt at Delia ...


	21. Stranger things

**tammydrabbles Prompt 33 (17 November) – The Morning After**

**Title:** Stranger Things

**Words:** 256

**Characters:** Arram Draper, Lindhall Reed

* * *

"Remind me never to do that again," Arram groans, dropping into his usual chair in Professor Reed's workroom. "I feel _abysmal_. Worse than the time I went pint for pint against Tristan. Worse than—"

"Nonsense!" his teacher's bracing rejoinder, delivered with offensive cheerfulness, strikes his ears like the sword of Mithros himself. "It was marvellous. A tremendous feat. Even after seeing it, I can hardly believe you actually managed to do it."

Arram can't deny that this assessment does make him feel marginally better. It _was_ rather impressive, certainly; none of the other students in his year, as far as he knows, has ever managed a full shape-shift, even for such a short time. He does feel almost fatally hung over, true, but – now that he thinks about it seriously – Lindhall was really _very_ impressed; if he could make such an impact on his friends – on Varice Kingsford – it would be almost worth it.

Almost.

Being a (sort of) hawk isn't all that _useful_, after all.

"You should practise that working," Lindhall is saying now. "Work up to sustaining it for several hours, and build up your flying strength. A trick like that could save your life in battle one day, you know."

This draws a snort of laughter. "I'm not a battle mage," Arram reminds his teacher. "I'm not going to _be_ a battle mage. The closest I'll ever be to a battlefield is … is …" He can't, in fact, think of anything.

"Still, you never know," Lindhall replies. "Stranger things have happened."

* * *

A/N: Obviously this scene presumes that Arram/Numair learned to shapeshift before fleeing Carthak. I have no idea whether this is true ...


	22. Absent friends

**Prompt 34 (1 December) – Missing**

**Title: **Absent Friends

**Words: **227

**Characters: **Daine, Kel (and some other people in supernumerary roles)

* * *

"Absent friends," says the tall hazel-eyed woman, raising her tankard.

The others gathered around the table echo her, heartily or hesitantly as their moods ordain.

The last voice of all, soft but heavy with sorrow and hurt, belongs to the woman at the far end of the table – slightly older than most of her companions, but dressed like them in black shirt and breeches, her mass of greying curls tied back severely from her still lovely face. She drains her tankard with the rest; tears hang on her long lashes, and she swipes at them angrily with one black sleeve. The dark-eyed, curly-headed young man seated next to her puts an arm around her shoulders and leans down to whisper in her ear.

"I'm so sorry." The tall woman looks stricken. "I forgot this was the anniversary of—"

"Don't, Kel," her friend interrupts, shaking off her son's protecting arm. "We've just been to a funeral. That's what you do, after a funeral – you drink to absent friends."

With trembling hands she lowers her tankard to the tabletop and pushes herself up out of her chair. "Excuse me," she says. "I'm sorry. I'll see you … I'll see you all again."

The others watch her go.

"I think," says Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, looking into the distance, "I think I'm glad I never fell in love."


	23. War & remembrance

**tammydrabbles prompt 35 (8 December) – War**

**Title:** War & Remembrance

**Words:** 298

Feat. Perin the Clerk

* * *

They say "All's fair in love and war." They say a lot of things – but none of them less true than that one. 

She was mine, or as good as. I was working my own magic, the magic of fair words, sweet kisses, kind gestures. Little gifts – walks in the moonlight. My interest in most of her doings was feigned to begin with, it's true, but in knowing her better I grew to share her concerns; and, if my interest never quite reached her level of passionate (one might even say bloody-minded) commitment, I had certainly as much in common with her as most men have with their sweethearts.

I know she thought I only wanted to bed her, and I did want that, of course – What man would not? Even _he_, gods damn him, who could have any lady at court, he wanted _her_! – but it wasn't so simple. The trouble was, she'd fallen for him even then. Only none of us knew it.

"All's fair." What nonsense!

When they left Corus that last time, I had made real progress – it was just a matter of time. Oh, I know she'd made no promises, but I'd have talked her round soon enough. Nothing like an armed conflict to hurry a lady into matrimony – or into bed, at any rate. But that misbegot Carthaki tyrant with his freakish army broke all the rules of war, and everyone's favourite master mage broke all the rules of love, and where does that leave me?

She hasn't married him either, you notice. You might think that'd take the sting away … but somehow it doesn't.

"All's fair." Bloody stupid, that's what it is. Well, that's it: it's been six months, and I'm through with pining.

She doesn't know what she's missing, that's all.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm a bit conflicted as to whether Perin is a wanker or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Can you tell:P 


	24. Friend in need

tammydrabbles prompt 36 (19 January) – For the Last Time

**

* * *

Title: Friend in Need**

**Words: **221

**Characters: **Miri, Evin

* * *

"I'm not bailing you out again," Miri says crossly. "The last time, we both got into _more_ trouble."

Evin gives her his most calculatedly engaging grin. "This isn't like the last time, Mir. Honest."

Most girls would fall for it; but Miri is smarter than most girls – which, of course, is why he needs her help. "How, exactly, is it not like the last time?"

"Well …" this requires a moment of thought. "Well, for one thing, this time I haven't been caught yet."

She rolls her eyes.

"And also," Evin continues, "this is absolutely, positively the very last time I'll ever ask."

Now she appears genuinely startled – and deeply suspicious. "D'you mean you've reformed? You're going to stop pilfering from the kitchens and playing pranks on the King's Own and—"

"Absolutely." Evin sticks out his chest, folds his arms, jerks his chin firmly downward. "I'm a reformed character, as from now. Except, I just need your help with this _one_ thing."

Miri still looks sceptical, but at last – reluctantly, slowly – she nods. "Fine, Evin. But I'm doing this for the last time. D'you hear me? The very, very last time."

"Of course! Of course. I said that." He nods eagerly. "Now, all you've got to do is knock on that door there, and when it opens, you say …"


	25. Introspection

**Prompt 37 (27 January) – Who Am I?**

**Title: **Introspection

**Words: **350

Feat. Sarralyn Salmalín

* * *

The Wildmage's daughter.

The Black Robe's child.

The shape-shifter.

The Salmalín girl.

The strange one.

Rikash's sister.

I've been called all of them – and those, of course, are the _polite_ names. I try to forget the others.

None of them has anything to do with who I really am – but how would anyone else know _that_? As my darling little brother is always reminding me, the real reason I haven't any friends is that I won't let anyone get to know me.

Which is true enough. Rikash can be perceptive. Not quite perceptive enough, of course, to understand my reasons.

I could tell him – he could be my confidant again, as he was when we were little children; but, to tell the truth, I'm afraid. Bad enough to have no friends, to have no husband or lover and no prospect of any. I don't think I could bear it if my only brother turned against me.

And what if he didn't? After all, he's as peculiar as I am, in his own way; he's got more Gift than he knows what to do with, he's got Da's habit of wandering about with his nose in a book and crashing into important people by mistake, he's far too clever for his own good. If nothing tragic has happened to him yet, it's only a matter of time – and maybe he'd see that, maybe he'd recognise that it wasn't entirely my fault.

But what if he did? After all, he's not like me really; he's conventional, when all's said and done, he's got a pretty wife (all right, clever and Gifted, too) and a baby on the way, he's got a proper job. Friends. Imagine his face, if I said, "Listen, Rikash, the thing is that once, when we were staying at the Tower, a boy from the village made me angry, and I went bear – I think it was a bear – and when I went two-legger again, he was …"

No, of course I can't tell him.

It's better if I'm the only one who knows who – _what_ – I really am.


	26. Time Is, Time Was

**Prompt 38 (2 February) – The Road Less Travelled**

**Title:** Time Is, Time Was

**Words:** 300

Feat. Kalasin of Conté, Empress of Carthak

* * *

I was going to be a lady knight, the first one in two centuries to earn her shield out in the open. I was going to go blow for blow and bruise for bruise with Roald and his friends, and look good doing it.

I was raised by the Voice of the Tribes and the Commander of the Queen's Riders – not to mention the Wildmage, the great Master Salmalín, the Lioness and her robber Baron, Raoul the Giantkiller … and Buri, of course, who somehow never acquired a grandiose title but manages to intimidate people nonetheless. I was going to be as brave and beautiful as Mama. I was going to be a knight and healer like Aunt Alanna, _and_ save the world in some spectacular way, like Aunt Daine.

Instead, here I am, looking decorative and imperial under a million pounds of silk, velvet and jewellery, on a hideously ostentatious barge in the middle of the River Zekoi. How, by all the gods, did I end up _here_?

Well … by obeying my parents' orders, that's how. Funny, that. I come from a long line – a web, really – of people who didn't; and ten years ago I'd have said I'd never make the same mistake.

But when it came to the point, I did just that.

Oh! There they are … Goddess bless! I can hardly believe it, it's been so long since I've seen any of these people …

Mistake, did I say? Well, all right, not _exactly_ a mistake. I never wanted to be a decorative empress, but there are, I must admit, certain compensations. And believe me, I've changed Carthak considerably more than it's changed me.

I was going to be a lady knight … but someone has to take the road less travelled, after all.


	27. To Die For

**Prompt 40 (16 February) – Ideals **

**Title:** To Die For

**Words: **329

**Characters:** Arram Draper, Lindhall Reed

* * *

"It's one thing to have ideals, Master Lindhall," Arram protests, "but it's another thing to … to …" 

"Arram." Lindhall Reed's tone is as calm and matter-of-fact as ever, though his hand on Arram's shoulder trembles a little. "Be sensible. I've put more than a decade's effort into this … project, and I'm not about to abandon it now. Besides—"

Arram stands abruptly and turns his back, assuming a fierce interest in the view from his teacher's window as he fights the urge to cry, to roar, to smash things.

"I appreciate your concern, Arram." Only when he feels Lindhall's hand clasp his shoulder again does he realize the crackling black-and-white aura he's begun to generate. Quickly, ashamed of his lack of restraint, he pulls his wayward Gift back into the centre of himself. "But," Lindhall continues, "you should save your worrying for yourself. I'll be quite safe, you know – I'm not such a hero that I'd stay here if I thought I weren't. _You_, on the other hand—"

"I, on the other hand" (this in a savage half-whisper) "am a great stupid oaf too clumsy to keep out of danger. You don't have to tell me. I know."

"I'm going to miss you, you great stupid oaf." Startled, Arram finds himself pulled into a brief, fierce hug – and returns it with all the intensity of his fear that he will never see this man again. Somehow it has never quite dawned on him before how much like his father (no, how much like the father he never had) Lindhall has become over the years.

He makes one last attempt: "Come with me." His voice muffled against the collar of the familiar robe. "I need you."

But Lindhall shakes his head. "The underground needs me," he counters, holding the younger man at arm's length and looking up at him. "You'll manage – I have great faith in you. Just do me one favour."

Arram blinks.

"Don't die."

* * *

A/N: perhaps a little slashy? yes, perhaps ...


	28. Light My Fire

Prompt 39 (9 February) – "Sir/Lady, you're on fire"

**Title:** Light My Fire

**Words:** 59

* * *

She shivers. She's alone, and it's cold.

But then, she seems to be always cold these days, even when she isn't alone.

Maybe the truth is that, really, she's alone all the time.

Things were very different once … but of course she should have known it would end this way.

Even a black robe mage can't live forever.

* * *

A/N: So, I was talking with Sonnet Lacewing about our drabbles for prompt 40, and half an hour later this popped into my head ... 


	29. Lesson Learned

Prompt 41 (2 March) – Lessons 

**Title:** Lesson Learned

**Words: **189

**Characters: **George, Alan, and Alianne of Pirate's Swoop

* * *

"Da, do we _have_ to do it again?" six-year-old Alan whines, when he is caught out for the fifth time. "I want to play something else now. This is no fun."

His twin sister stops in her tracks and gapes at him. "_No fun?_" she repeats. "What do you mean, it's _no fun_? This is the best game we've ever played!"

It goes without saying that, so far, Aly has not been caught out even once.

Their father grins broadly and ruffles her red-gold hair. "That's quite the compliment, lassie, comin' from you. What say we raise the stakes a little, eh? Alan, you'll stay a few more rounds if the prize is an extra helpin' of Maud's jam roly-poly, will you not?"

But Alan has taken advantage of this momentary lull to make himself scarce.

"Jam roly-poly?" says Aly. "How many do I have to win?"

Frowning thoughtfully, the Baron of Pirate's Swoop appears to consider this question. "That was just for your brother, Aly. _You_ don't need bribin', do you?"

"Da! That's not fair!" Aly protests. But she plays six more rounds anyway, just to show him.

* * *

A/N: This is my first-ever Aly-focused drabble, so if it's terrible, that's probably why ... 


	30. A First Time for Everything

Prompt 42 (10 March) – Firsts

**Title: **A First Time for Everything

**Words: **281

**Characters: **Arram Draper, Varice Kingsford

* * *

His heart pounds – it's so loud he's sure Varice will hear it, too, and laugh at him. But somehow she doesn't; she's absorbed in watching the fireworks, her arms around her knees, her beautiful face raised to the sky and illuminated every few moments by some ambitious mage's latest creation.

The fireworks are spectacular. Last year, on the Emperor's birthday, Arram watched the display with rapt attention, amazed both by its beauty and by the sheer extravagance of commissioning a dozen war-mages to pour their Gifts into an hour of pretty explosions in the sky.

This year, Arram has something better to look at.

He inches closer, until his shoulder is touching hers and he can smell her perfume. She doesn't seem to object, or perhaps she hasn't noticed.

He swallows hard. "Varice," he says – and then says it again, out loud this time.

Varice turns to look at him, smiling. He's not sure whether the smile is for him or for the occasion; but it's now or never, and he lifts one hand to cup her cheek, and leans in, and kisses her soft red lips.

To his astonishment, Varice – instead of slapping him, or falling about laughing – kisses him back.

"You've never done that before, have you." It's a statement, not a question; but she seems to find his inexperience endearing.

Arram can tell that he's blushing, and is grateful when the last, most spectacular explosion dies away and they're left in the dark of a Carthaki midnight. "Not exactly," he admits.

Varice takes his hand. "Let's go for a walk," she says. "I think you might be quite good at it, with a little more practice …"


	31. Perchance to Dream

Prompt 43 (17 March) – Dreams

**Title:** Perchance to Dream

**Words: **757

**Characters: **Rikash Salmalín and some OCs

* * *

Near the Gallan border, in a small, rather battered tent at the edge of a minimalist encampment of the Twenty-Ninth Rider Group – more usually known as the Lucky Cats – a man is dreaming. The Riders' tents are huddled together around the fire; they like the tall, tousle-headed young mage well enough by day, but after last night, no one wants to get too near his dreams. 

_Ozorne Tasikhe, Stormwing and sometime Emperor of Carthak, has been dead far longer than Rikash has been alive – but that has never stopped him from haunting Rikash's dreams. "I never could kill your mother," he remarks, his expression somewhere between a leer and a snarl as he dangles Rikash by one leg above a pool of swirling particoloured muck – Chaos bile, as Rikash knows from his parents' description. "But you – I could kill you without breaking a fingernail."_

The Riders change watches at midnight. "D'you think we should check on him?" one oncoming sentry asks the other, jerking her head toward young Salmalín's tent. "Talitha said he was screaming again …"

"Go ahead if you want to," her partner replies. "I'll pass. Mages' nightmares have a way of … leaking out."

_"You're a washed-up has-been!" Rikash yells, as well as he can with the blood pounding in his ears, the pressure building in his head. And then, realizing what he's just said, he laughs: "Did I say 'washed-up'? Make that 'unwashed,' you stinky—"_

_But Ozorne has let go of his leg, and now he's hurtling down into the pit._

_Again._

A ragged cry – half shout, half shriek – rends the still air. Ragen shivers and makes the sign against evil.

"You're not a Lucky Cat," Yannick scoffs. "You're a '_fraidy cat_." She squares her shoulders and approaches the mage's tent.

Ragen's right about one thing, she realizes, when she gets closer: all around the tent, the air shimmers very slightly, little gleams of black and white that vanish if you try to look at them straight on. Yannick crouches down in front of it and scratches gently at the canvas. "Master Salmalín?" she asks tentatively. When no answer comes, she takes her courage in both hands and pokes her head through the flap.

The mage is sitting up in his bedroll, knees drawn up, face buried in his hands. "Are you all right, Master Salmalín?" Yannick inquires. She's on firmer ground, now: she has four younger brothers at home, and bad dreams are something she knows a bit about.

He raises his head. She's never been this close to him before, and it comes as a bit of a shock to realize that he's not much older than she is – he might be twenty-three or -four, perhaps, but not more. His eyes are very large and very dark, and he looks thoroughly miserable. "I'll survive," he says, with a wan smile that twists his lips briefly but doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm used to it."

Encouraged by the fact that he hasn't blasted her with mage-fire or yelled at her to go away, Yannick hunkers down cross-legged just inside the tent and offers him her canteen. He takes a swig and hands it back to her. "Thanks," he says. And then, tilting his head on one side, "Why aren't you afraid of me, like the rest of them?"

Yannick shrugs. Grins. Takes a long drink from her canteen to cover her embarrassment. The rather shocking truth is that Rikash Salmalín is really very … attractive. "I don't scare that easy, Master Salmalín," she says at last.

"You're lucky, then," he replies; "Me, I'm scared of my own shadow these days. By the way," he adds, his deep voice a little plaintive, "since we're going to be travelling together all the way back to Corus, do you think you could stop calling me that? It makes me feel like my father. My name's Rikash."

He puts out his hand, and Yannick grips it – he's stronger than he looks, and his palms are as callused as her own. "I'm Yannick," she says.

Rikash grins – for real, this time. The effect is devastating. "It's good to meet you, Yannick," he says. "Tell me – do you know how to play chess?"

"No," she admits, returning the grin. "But I'm a quick learner." Then, remembering, "I'm on watch, though, so I'd best get back to my post. Tomorrow night?"

"I'll be here."

He winks at her as she scrambles out of the tent, and Yannick smiles to herself. Escort duty just got a _lot_ more interesting.


	32. Three to Get Ready

Prompt 44 (23 March) – Three

**Title:** Three to Get Ready

**Words:** 79

Feat. Alianne Crow

* * *

"Are you _sure_?" Aly can feel the colour draining from her face, and she can hardly restrain herself from shaking the woman in front of her.

She shouldn't be frightened, she tells herself firmly. She's already lived through kidnapping, slavery, assassination attempts, war, revolution and divine intervention. But _this_ …

"My ma always used to say that bad things happened in threes," she says – slowly, her eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance. "Goddess! I hope she was wrong."


	33. Naturally, Not

**Prompt 45 (30 March) – Tabula rasa**

**Title: **Naturally, Not

**Words:** 118

Feat. The Late Duke Roger of Conté

* * *

The girl was powerful, of course. After all, she found me out – though not without help. Naturally not.

But she thought too much of what is _right_. Justice, loyalty. (Not _honesty_, of course. Naturally not.) I had thought to make use of her; but her power was too much handicapped by her conscience.

Now, her brother, on the other hand …

Yes, the boy has potential. All of his sister's power – more than all – naturally more! – and very little else; indeed, you might say that he presents me with a clean slate on which to write the triumphant sequel to my ignominious defeat.

And after that, of course, no one will ever hear his name again.

Naturally not.


	34. Tell me lies

Prompt 46 (5 April) – Truth and Lies

**Title: **Tell me lies

**Words: **292

**Characters: **Daine, Sarralyn and Rikash Salmalín

* * *

"… and we _tried_ to get them out, Ma, honestly, but we just _couldn't._" Rikash finishes his tale on a sort of sob.

He looks doleful, penitent, pathetic, and for this reason Daine is immediately suspicious. It's not like Sarralyn to let her younger brother speak for her; if she has, it's because she thinks he can make a better case than she.

And if there's one thing nobody can do better than Rikash, it's pathos.

"You tried, did you?" Daine raises a sceptical eyebrow, looking her damp, naked, towel-wrapped offspring up and down. Rikash is a little boy, but Sarra really ought to know better – not that Daine supposes for a minute that she got here in this shape. "How, exactly, did you try?"

Rikash squirms, and Sarra takes over. "I went eagle, and tried to grab them, but the current was too fast," she begins, ticking off points on her fingers; "and then I flew ahead and went bear and tried to swipe them in from the bank, and Rikash tried to summon them, but I guess they were too heavy, and …"

Her voice trails off as she realizes that her mother is paying no attention. Instead, Daine is watching Rikash, whose reactions are more reliable than any truth-spell. "That was a good effort," she tells them, after a moment, "but those clothes were brand new, and the cost of them is still coming out of your pocket money."

Sarra looks mutinous, Rikash relieved. "Uncle George would be ashamed of you," Sarra tells her brother; and then, turning to Daine, "Just for curiosity, what would've happened if we'd told you the whole truth straight off?"

Daine considers this. "I've no idea," she admits at last. "It's never happened before."

* * *

A/N: I tried out a couple of serious ideas for this prompt, but ultimately decided on silly... 


	35. No Way to Run a Kingdom

Prompt 47 (12 April) – What If?

**Title:** No way to run a kingdom

**Words:** 204

Feat. Sir Sacherell of Wellam

* * *

It's pointless, of course – a dangerous self-indulgence – but I can't help sometimes thinking, all the same: what if, all those years ago, Sir Alan had beaten Duke Roger?

Imagine it: Jonathan, our Jon, on the throne of Tortall. Could he have fended off the advances of the Carthaki Emperor? Would he have wanted to? After all, the vassal kingdom of Tortall has enjoyed a long peace under Carthak's protection, when to resist would have meant years of war – decades perhaps. King Roald would certainly have favoured peace over war; perhaps Roger, not Jonathan, is indeed his natural heir.

Jon was always a bit of a hothead, and Alan – well. When someone's born with hair that colour, what hope has he got? They'd have had us up to our ears in crisis after crisis, I suppose, charging to the rescue of every damsel – or petty dukedom – in distress. That's no way to run a kingdom.

Still – when we were boys, we all thought Jon would be the greatest king in Tortall's history. And maybe I'm wrong; maybe he'd have got it right in the end.

After all, both Jon and Alan died so long ago … who can say how they might have turned out?


	36. All the Luck

Prompt 48 (21 April) – Envy

**Title: **All the Luck

**Words:** 290

Feat. Sarralyn Salmalín

* * *

For as long as she can remember, Sarralyn has envied her brother.

Plenty of other people envy him, too, of course; but perhaps not for quite the same reasons. A number of his colleagues at the Royal University, for example, would give their eye-teeth for a Gift like his; the more enthusiastic students, too, are constantly angling for invitations to dinner, the better to question the two Salmalín mages on their particular topics of research (for both Numair and Rikash – and Daine, too – will happily declaim for _hours_ on nearly any magic-related topic) and thus get the inside edge on their peers. And the more Rikash's disarmingly unselfconscious charm attracts young women, the more young men grumble under their breath that some people have all the luck.

Sarra's envy has quite a different source.

It is only too easy for her to make herself an object of flattering male attention; but flattery has grown empty with the years, and there seems no possibility of attracting the trust, friendship and genuine affection that Rikash so effortlessly inspires.

It is true, of course, as Sarra tells herself, that there are many who find his power as frightening as hers; it is true that he is by far the more sensitive, and suffers from dreadful nightmares and crises of self-confidence. It's also true that Sarra can disappear far more completely, and thus evade all manner of unpleasantness – parental lectures on the importance of honesty in relationships, for example. And Sarra, of course, is by nature more panther than wolf.

But to be looked at by anyone as that young Rider was looking at Rikash when the Lucky Cats brought him home …

_Yes_, thinks Sarra, _some people really do have all the luck_.


	37. Maiden No More

Prompt 49 (27 April) – Cocktail Names

**Title: **Maiden-No-More

**Words: **379

**Characters:** Daine Sarrasri, Numair Salmalín

* * *

When he wakes, sunlight is striping the bedroom wall and she is sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Seeing him open his eyes, she smiles, and his heart turns over. "'Morning, Magelet," he says, yawning.

The smile broadens into a grin. "Is that all you have to say?" she inquires, folding her arms over her bare chest (he is conscious of a twinge of disappointment) and tilting her head on one side. "Up too late last night, were you?" The blue eyes dancing. "Up to mischief, too, I reckon …"

"Magelet!" Really, this is unfair, considering— "I seem to remember," he says, sitting up, "that I was not the only participant in last night's … activities …"

This earns him a raised eyebrow, and he decides to change the subject: "How long have you been awake?"

A shrug. "Not long. Or I'd've put some clothes on." A pause. "It's past noon, by the way. Haven't you got a meeting with Master Harailt this afternoon?"

"Past noon? It _is?_" He doesn't ask how she knows – presumably the animals have told her the sun is high in the sky.

She lets him leap out of bed and scrabble about for several minutes in search of clean clothes before she says, "No, not really. But it _is_ past breakfast, and I'm starved."

"You— you—"

"Now, Numair." She interrupts his outraged sputtering in the measured, reasonable tone he has so often used on her. Hopping down from the bed, she makes her way unhurriedly to the window and peers through the shutters into the leafy courtyard below. "It's a beautiful summer's day out there. You didn't want to spend half of it lazing about in bed, did you?"

This is, in fact, exactly what he was hoping to do. But when she turns around, the gleam in her eye makes him suspect that something even more interesting is in the offing.

"Good," she says, stepping towards him until they are so close that he can scarcely catch his breath. Was it really only yesterday evening that he was still worrying about the vast gulf between his experience and hers?

She looks up at him, and slips her arms about his waist. "Now," she says, "where were we?"


	38. Tall Tales

Prompt 50 (4 May) – Epic

**Title:** Tall Tales

**Words:** 335

**Characters:** Evin and Miri, with appearances by an OC or so

* * *

Through the laughter and chatter of the Riders' dining hall, a familiar voice reaches Miri's ears: "… and the last one nearly took my head off, but I ducked in the nick of time …" 

She puts down her empty tankard with a sigh – half amused, half irritated. Evin is retelling his version of the Battle of Legann for about the thousandth time, and the trainees (who seem to Miri to get younger and more credulous every year) are hanging on his every word.

Unlike Miri, they haven't heard this epic tale before. And so, unlike Miri, they have no idea how much it's been embellished since Evin first told it to her – with considerably less panache, thanks to the lingering after-effects both of his brush with a series of Ozorne's Immortal allies and of the extensive healing he'd needed as a result – a few days after the battle.

Zara, second in command of the Twenty-First Riders, passes by with five tankards of ale clutched in her two fists. Spotting Miri's empty mug, she sets one of them down on the table. Grinning, Miri lifts it in salute.

"At it again, I see," Zara remarks, jerking her head at Evin.

Miri rolls her eyes. "You can take the Player out of the Playhouse …"

Zara is snorting with laughter as she moves on.

Over the edge of her tankard Miri spares another glance for Evin's entourage. The trainees – the girls especially – are now raining breathless questions like arrows on a practice target; she can't hear them over the din their elders are making, but after all these years she really doesn't need to. _Were you frightened, Commander Larse?_ someone will ask. _Is it true Stormwings feed on fear? What was it really _like_, the Immortals War?_

Evin will tell them something – mostly self-aggrandizement, though not without a sprinkling of truth. Unlike Miri, they'll swallow it hook, line and sinker – because, unlike Miri, they've never slept beside him and woken to the sound of his nightmares.

* * *

**A/N:** I can't for the life of me remember whether Evin and/or Miri was in any way involved in the Battle of Legann. But honestly I don't think it matters that much -- if your memory is better than mine, and I'm totally wrong, just substitute some other episode in the Immortals War... 


	39. Something

Prompt 51 (11 May) – Magic

**Title:** Something

**Words:** 747

**Characters:** Rikash Salmalín and an OC (with cameo appearances by some other Salmalíns)

**A/N: **If you haven't read chapters 31 ("Perchance to Dream") and 36 ("All the Luck") of this series, this one may confuse you mightily. Also: self-indulgent introspection ahoy! Oh, and some fluff, perhaps.

_

* * *

Have you seen 'im? 'Angin' on 'er every word 'e were, and 'er not even pretty …_

_What d'you reckon – she's bewitched 'im? _

_Nah … she's not got Gift enough for it, a powerful mage like that. Bet it were a love potion. Those Gallans, you know, they've got potions for all sorts._

_Musta done _something_, whatever …_

Yannick has been hearing whispers like these ever since the Lucky Cats' return to Corus three weeks since, and the rumours they spread are growing wilder by the day. Rikash – who must be used to this sort of thing, considering his family – only laughs, and tells her to ignore them; but the more he repeats this little speech, the less he seems to believe in it. Lately he's begun to look rather strained.

And his family are no help, no help at all. Rikash's parents obviously mean well; but watching the two of them, so obviously still in love after – what – it must be more than _thirty years_, makes Yannick uneasy: much as she loves being in the Queen's Riders, she knows very well that really she left home mainly to escape her parents' endless quarrelling and her own thankless job as substitute mother to her younger brothers. Surely Rikash's parents can't expect her – expect _them_ – they've only known each other a few weeks, after all, they're only having a bit of fun …

And then there's Sarralyn.

Yannick is not fearful by nature – if she had been, she would never have got this far – but Sarralyn Salmalín is enough to scare the breeches off anyone: the way she never looks quite the same as the last time you saw her is bad enough, her disconcerting habit of turning into a cat or mouse or a bird and scarpering, but worst is the strange, sad, almost _hungry_ look she gets sometimes, when Rikash and Yannick happen to smile at each other, or share some private joke, or hold hands. The expression on her face when she chanced upon a brief kiss up on the battlements …

Which, to Yannick's surprise and chagrin, is more or less as far as things have gone.

Of course, it wouldn't be easy – privacy is tricky to come by in their situation – but other people manage, somehow. But young Master Salmalín has a bit of a reputation, and if any of it's true, Yannick can't for the life of her understand the way he's been acting.

It isn't that he's ashamed of her: he seems to have no qualms about being seen with her all over Corus, and certainly hasn't hesitated to introduce her to, as far as she can tell, nearly everyone he knows. It can't be that he doesn't _like_ her; if he didn't, would he keep turning up to watch her drill with the Cats, and inviting her round for dinner with his family, and doing silly little bits of magic to make her laugh? And surely … surely she didn't imagine the way he used to flirt with her, out there on the road from Galla?

But raising this subject is a great deal more difficult than Yannick could ever have imagined.

Eventually, of course, Commander Larse does it for her, by ordering the Cats back out into the field. "We've had our orders," Yannick tells Rikash that evening; "we ride out day after tomorrow." And her stomach does a strange sort of back-flip at his unconcealed dismay. _Don't be stupid_, she tells herself sternly. _Just a bit of fun, remember?_

"I'll miss you," Rikash says, putting one long arm round her shoulders and pulling her close. "I don't – I don't suppose—"

Suspicious, Yannick peers up at him in the gathering dusk: it isn't like Rikash to have to struggle for words. "You don't s'pose what?" she asks.

Abruptly, he leans down and kisses her – really kisses her, for almost the first time – and it feels as if every rational thought she's ever had is trickling out her ears.

After a few minutes, breathless, she pushes him away.

"I'm sorry," he says, misreading, his dark eyes huge, remorseful, hurt. "I thought— I didn't mean—"

But Yannick has got her breath back now. "_Now_ you're sorry?" she demands, incredulous. "Ragen was right, Rikash – you're touched in the head."

He opens his mouth – to protest, perhaps, or demand an explanation. _I'll find out later_, Yannick tells herself, as her hands tangle in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers.


	40. Older, Wiser

tammydrabbles prompt 52 (18 May) – Limits

**Title: **Older/Wiser

**Words: **62

Feat. Sarralyn Salmalín

* * *

All Sarralyn's life, people have been talking to her about limits. _There are limits, Sarra! You can't just …_

It used to puzzle her, because it seemed to her that there was nothing much she couldn't manage to do, if she set her mind to it.

Now that she's older, of course, she understands that this is precisely what they've always meant.


	41. Recognition

Prompt 53 (25 May) -- _Two characters talk about one of the only things they have in common. One is holding something very peculiar._

**Title: **Recognition

**Words: **759

**Characters: **Nealan of Queenscove and Numair Salmalín

* * *

The door opens, and Neal jumps, thrusting both hands out of sight behind his back: the person in the doorway – looking down at him from a considerable height – is not at all the one he expected to see.

"Why, Goddess bless, it's young Nealan!" This can only be a deliberate effort at humiliation: having known Neal for most of his life, Master Salmalín knows very well how much he loathes being called "young Nealan". "And what brings you here on such a lovely summer day? Shouldn't you be …" he waves a hand vaguely. "outside, enjoying the … the sunshine, and the lack of Immortal attacks?"

"I …" Neal can feel the heat of a furious blush rising up his neck, staining cheeks and ears and brow an unbecoming crimson. Mithros! What a thing to happen. "I was looking for … I wanted to speak to …"

Master Salmalín raises one eyebrow, beginning to look amused. "Let me guess: I've done something of which your father disapproves, and he's sent you with an irate missive warning me that I must stop putting my health in danger." A sigh of resignation, clearly feigned. "Very well then – hand it over."

This is getting worse and worse. "It– it– it isn't for you," Neal manages, adding belatedly, "sir." The message isn't from Duke Baird, either, but he sees no need to mention that detail. With considerable effort, he pulls himself together. "It's for Dai— it's for Mistress Sarrasri, sir. She wasn't in her room, and so I thought—"

Tortall's most powerful mage peers down at Neal, who at this moment would give anything to be smaller – small enough, for instance, to disappear into that crack in the wall over there. "But of course. How stupid of me." He half turns from Neal and calls softly, "Magelet!"

Neal has heard him use that name before, of course, but now, for some reason, it sounds … _different._

There is no reply, and Master Salmalín turns back to him with a shrug. "Still asleep, I'm afraid," he says, and while Neal, struck dumb with horror, is still absorbing the devastating implications of this statement, he goes on: "I've never been much good at mornings myself, but Daine is just _hopeless_ sometimes. Boundless energy once she does wake up, of course, but—" He stops. "Now, you had a message? It's all right, just leave it with me and I'll see that Daine reads it. Unless it's urgent … ?"

_Only the most important thing in the world. Only the most secret outpourings of my ravished heart…_

Neal shakes his head. "No, sir. Not urgent. In fact – erm – don't worry about it, sir – I'll come back another time."

"No, no." Master Salmalín holds out his hand. "Don't be silly – you must have other things to do. Just leave it with me, Neal. It's perfectly safe – I'm not as absent-minded as _that_, you know."

By now Neal would rather die a painful death than reveal the "message" clutched in his left hand – in fact, bursting into flames seems like much the best strategy. But the man is his teacher, and his father's friend, and, more to the point, frighteningly powerful; Neal has seen him get angry before, and would rather not repeat the experience.

The only question is whether he'll be angrier if Neal doesn't hand the thing over, or if he does.

The older man is still standing there in the doorway with one hand outstretched. Reluctantly, with a miserable, sinking feeling that his heartfelt – and now, it appears, completely pointless – confession of undying love will be the laughing-stock of Corus by dinnertime, he produces from behind his back three painstakingly constructed arrows, fletched with eagle feathers, around which is wrapped a narrow roll of parchment secured with a blue satin ribbon.

The infuriating eyebrow goes up again. "Not Baird's usual style," Master Salmalín remarks, as he gingerly accepts this peculiar item.

Speechless, his face burning with humiliation and rage, Neal turns and stalks away down the corridor. _What is she _thinkingHe demands of himself. _He's almost old enough to be her _father_! It's a tragedy, that's what it is. _

_Well, then._

At the next turning, safely out of sight of the mage's door, he breaks into a run, and doesn't stop until, out of breath and gasping, he collapses on his bed and goes to work on another love-poem.


	42. A Matter of Perspective

Prompt 54 (1 June) – Point of view

**Title: **A Matter of Perspective

**Words: **270

**Characters: **Sir Gareth the Younger, Lady Cythera; surveillance by Keladry of Mindelan; cameo appearance by Lalasa

* * *

Kel sets down her two-foot stack of inventory reports with a grunt of relief. As she straightens up from the Prime Minister's desk, she hears a sound; turning to investigate, she feels her eyes widening, her mouth falling open in a comical display of shock.

Roald did mention at breakfast, now she comes to think of it, that Lady Cythera had arrived this morning from Naxen for a brief visit. What he didn't mention is just how enthusiastically Sir Gareth the Younger might be planning to greet his wife.

"Gary!" Lady Cythera's voice is warm and husky, teetering on the edge of giggles. "This dress cost twenty gold pieces – be careful!"

"It's very pretty," the Prime Minister replies – at least, he _looks_ like Sir Gareth – or, rather, the back of Sir Gareth's head – but Kel has certainly never heard him sound like _that_ before. "It'll look even prettier on the floor."

Then there is another round of kissing and embracing; but by now Kel is halfway down the corridor.

* * *

"She's his wife, Lady Kel. People are allowed to kiss their wives," Lalasa says patiently, when Kel describes this mortifying encounter.

"You don't understand," Kel retorts, impatient; of course she has seen people kiss each other before. "It wasn't just a _kiss_, it was— it was—"

"_Oh_."

"Exactly."

There is a long, speculative silence, during which Kel tries in vain to banish from her mind the spectre of Sir Gareth and Lady Cythera making such unexpected use of that famously uncomfortable antique chair.

"So, then," Lalasa continues at last, "will Lady Cythera want her gown mending, do you think?"

* * *

**A/N: Feels a bit like cheating, but sometimes things come out differently than you intended...**


	43. Ancient History

Prompt 55 (8 June) – Pet names

**Title: **Ancient History

**Words: **342

**Characters: **Sarralyn and Rikash

* * *

Sarralyn and Rikash find the book after their mother's death, secreted in a drawer between layers of linen shirts that exude the unbearably reminiscent scent of lavender and musk. It is clearly older than either of them, but so pristine, so unthumbed and un-dogeared – so unlike, in fact, the majority of the extensive family library – that it might have emerged from the palace scriptorium only moments ago.

"It was spelled," Rikash says after a moment; "you can see where—" He stops, remembering that Sarra can't, and then continues: "It's the one Ma told us about, once, remember? The first book Da ever gave her. And he'd spelled it—"

"Against dirt and wear," Sarra interrupts him, nodding. "I remember."

Her brother is astonished to see tears in her eyes. Astonished, then resentful: How dare she, after all these years?

"He used to call her 'Magelet,'" Sarra continues after a moment. The tears gather against her lashes, but don't fall; grief clogs her warm contralto voice. "When no one was listening – his little mage. Do you remember?"

Rikash shakes his head: it's Sarra now who has forgotten – despite standing here in their mother's bedroom wrapped in an old quilt from the blanket chest – that her magic can take her places where his is of no use at all.

"He never called you that," she says, "or me."

"He loved us, Sarra." Rikash answers the question as though it had been asked in words. "They both did. You know that."

She smiles at him through her tears. "But it didn't help," she says softly.

There is a diffident knock on the door; Sarra startles, her body blurs and shifts, and suddenly the quilt lies rumpled on the floor and a mouse's tail is disappearing under the wardrobe.

Rikash sighs. "You worry too much," he tells the mouse. "It's ancient history – even if anyone remembers, I'm sure they wouldn't care. But stay there if you'd rather."

And, shaking his head, he ducks out of the bedchamber and crosses the sitting-room to answer the door.

**

* * *

**A bit of an AU relative to the other Sarralyn-and-Rikash stuff I've been writing – or, at least, a big leap into a possible future … You just never know what's going to come out when you sit down at that computer! 


	44. Mistaken Identity

Prompt 55 (15 June) – Time

**Title:** Mistaken Identity

**Words: **275

**Characters: **you know … my default OTP. Fluff ahoy!!

* * *

There is a knock at the door. Frowning irritably, Numair calls, "Go away!" 

Nevertheless, the door swings open on its almost-silent hinges.

"Gaheris, that had better not be you back again," Numair mutters; he doesn't look up from the complex tangle of glass tubes on his worktable, from which a pearlescent blue-green liquid is slowly dripping into a flask. _The boy wants to be a master mage, but can he even follow simple instructions?_ "How many times do I have to remind you—"

From the doorway, a chuckle. "Aren't we grouchy!" This is decidedly not Gaheris's voice.

"Magelet!" Numair jumps up, knocking over his chair as he turns to face her. Daine steps into his arms and he holds her tight, lifting her off her feet and burying his face in her soft hair – which carries the faint smells of campfire and horse and forest. "I didn't expect you for another week. Your mission for Jon, it went well?"

Daine pulls away, laughing, to look into his eyes. "Swimmingly," she says. "And I'm back right on schedule. Numair, what _have_ you been doing with yourself?"

Puzzled now, he casts his mind back. His students are always accusing him of absent-mindedness, but can he really have mislaid a whole week?

"I'm sorry, Magelet," he says at last. "I must have lost track of time."

"Oh, you needn't apologize," Daine replies cheerfully. "That would've happened in any case …"

It has taken Numair a week to make that distillation, whose originator claimed, many centuries ago, to have made a whole army invisible without a mage's presence. When Daine's lips meet his after a three weeks' separation, it takes only a moment for him to forget about it entirely.


	45. Rite of Passage

Prompt 57 (22 June) – What did you say?

**Title:** Rite of Passage

**Words: **188

**Characters: **Joren of Stone Mountain, Vinson of Genlith, and an unnamed first-year page

* * *

"No, I won't! It's not fair – you did that on purpose!"

"_What_ did you say?"

This is what Joren enjoys most – the stunned look on the boy's face as he realizes what's happening, the way _stunned_ gives way to _absolutely bloody terrified_ as Vinson's fist pins him against the wall.

"What did you say?" Joren almost purrs the question this time, and the goggle-eyed boy only stammers in response.

"Answer the question," Vinson growls.

"I– I– I d-d-didn't – it w-w-was—"

"_What did you say?_" leaning close, wrinkling his elegant nose in disgust at the acrid scent of fear.

The boy knows what he has to do; it's a simple thing really, for all some of them fuss about it so – just part of being a page. He swallows audibly and shuts his eyes a moment. "Yes, sir," he whispers at last. "Thank you, sir. I'll mop it up for you, sir."

Joren nods; Vinson releases the boy, and he strips off his tunic and drops to his knees.

"Not bad," Joren says, when the job is finished. "But next time I'd better not have to ask twice."


	46. Love's Labours Lost

Prompt 58 (29 June) – Celebration

**Title:** Love's Labours Lost

**Words: **286

Feat. Cleon of Kennan

_

* * *

__'s for Kennan_, he tells himself. _It's for my fief, and my family, and our people. I'm the only one who can save them, and this is the only way._

The words don't help, don't ease the clutch of panic in his gut, but he keeps repeating them anyway. _I have no choice. I have no choice._

He wishes, now, that one of those times he'd taken things to their logical conclusion; they came near enough, but he was so determined to do the right thing, and now it's too late. It wouldn't have changed anything, of course, but at least he'd have that to remember.

Because the worst thing is that Kel would never have married him anyway. She thinks he doesn't know it, but it's true: if she ever felt about him as he does about her – and he's sure she did, once – she doesn't any longer. Kel is famously inscrutable, but no one who knows her as Cleon does could have mistaken the expression on her face in that first infinitesimal moment after he told her the news – a look not of anguish or sorrow, but of relief.

"Cleon!" Someone is calling him – it must be time to begin. He smoothes down his tunic nervously, hoping he doesn't look as ill as he feels.

And then he puts out a hand, turns the handle on the door, steps out into the flagstoned corridor. Even from here he can discern the hum of voices, the music, the sounds of the celebration on which her parents have insisted.

_It's for Kennan._ _It's for my fief, and my family, and our people. I'm the only one who can save them, and this is the only way._


	47. Who By Fire

Prompt 59 (13 July) – Elements

**Title:** Who By Fire

**Words:** 1039 (this one got a bit out of hand, I'm afraid...)

**Characters:** mostly OCs, with a side of Rikash Salmalín

* * *

The flames have taken it, all of it, despite their efforts – the fields, the cottages, the byres and pasture fences, the smithy and the dairy and the wellhouse – and the three of them stand on the rise above the village of Finsmere, looking down at what remains.

"How could this happen?" Yannick whispers, appalled. "They'd all have had charms on their houses, surely? And, anyway, how could— how could _anyone_—"

To her left, a grim, derisive snort from Ragen. "To hear you talk, lassie, anyone'd think you'd never met a bandit before."

Despite her horror at the scene before them, Yannick bridles at that _lassie_ – as though Ragen were twenty years her elder, instead of only five! Before she can retort, though, Rikash's hand is on her right arm, the slight pressure a warning that she heeds by instinct. He's right, of course: this is no time to squabble amongst themselves. They came too late to save Finsmere, but with any luck they can still stop the same thing happening anywhere else.

"Mage-fire," says Rikash bleakly. Then, in a low voice, "Can any of the villagers tell us anything about them? How many there were, or how they looked …?"

"The headwoman told me she got a good look," Yannick replies, looking about for her and finally spotting the solid shape and iron-grey head in the midst of a group of young women. "Over yonder. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders – should be able to tell us something useful. I hope."

Rikash nods sharply. "I'll be back in a moment. Be ready to follow me – half the group should be enough."

"Right." Yannick is about to get on with things when Ragen catches her elbow and pulls her round to face him. "What was all that about?" he demands.

"We're going to follow them." Yannick is impatient. "Half the Cats'll stay here and help the villagers mop up, and the rest will go with Rikash and me and track the bastards down. Are you coming?"

"What's he going to do?" Suspiciously – Ragen has never shared the other Lucky Cats' enthusiasm for Rikash's methods.

"What the blazes does it matter?" Pulling away, Yannick tosses the words over her shoulder. "You take charge here, then, old 'Fraidy Cat." It's a good choice anyway: Ragen's a steady, practical sort and the best person to leave in charge of the villagers, for all he's never quite approved of Yannick as commander of the Cats. Riders aren't meant to be married, after all, it's one of the oldest rules, and by Ragen's lights Yannick might as well be.

Yannick hurries her half-group together – those least exhausted and least likely to balk at whatever their pet mage has planned – and by the time Rikash has finished with the headwoman and her friends they are mounted and ready to ride. Rikash swings into the saddle of his blue roan gelding and signals directions to the group, who follow him as readily as they would follow any of their own number. It's hard to believe now that a few years ago half of them were afraid to go near him.

Yannick and her Riders are some of the best trackers in Tortall, and Rikash has charmed the villagers into letting him take portraits of the bandits from their minds; despite having had some hours' start and plenty of time to hide themselves and their horses in the dense forests to the north, those responsible for the immolation of Finsmere are quickly run to earth.

The bandits outnumber the Riders nearly two to one, and they are more than ready to fight their way out of this predicament. They soon discover, as others have before them, that what the Lucky Cats may lack in numbers they make up in skill, speed and sheer bloody-mindedness. And it is then that the surviving outlaws make their fatal mistake.

"Time to do your thing, Dunny!" someone shouts, above the din of hooves and clashing blades and laboured breathing. The smallest of the band – barely holding his own against Yannick's newest trainee – suddenly drops back behind the others, who rush to screen him, and closing his eyes, raises his arms above his head.

"_Rikash! Now!_" Yannick bellows, just before the mage-fire flames erupt among the Cats.

And Rikash on his blue roan comes thundering up out of the trees, a thick grey fog roiling before him. As though this were a well-practised manoeuvre, instead of a mad and spur-of-the-moment plan, Yannick and the others fall back to either side; the dampening spells in that unnatural fog put out the fires in moments, and by the time the Cats have encircled their prey Rikash has knocked the terrified bandits off their horses, confiscated their weapons and herded them together in a shivering clump, all without stirring from the saddle.

The rogue mage – who, now Yannick can see him properly, looks no more than a boy – is whimpering, and no wonder: he's dangling upside-down by one leg, the ends of his stringy hair a good five feet from the ground.

"Your orders, Commander?" Rikash's voice is like ice.

Yannick considers the matter. Rikash looks as though he might kill the boy – kill all of them, perhaps – if left to himself; but, much as she sympathizes with his desire for vengeance, she is a Commander of the Queen's Riders, sworn to uphold the King's law. "Let him down, Master Salmalín," she says at last. "We'll take them back to Legann under guard, and let the King's Magistrates deal with them."

Rikash looks furious, but he'll thank her later: killing in battle is one thing, murdering a dozen unarmed men in cold blood quite another. "Yes, ma'am," he growls, and the next moment the boy-mage is sprawled in the scorched undergrowth, sobbing.

"You should have let Salmalín roast 'em, Commander," one of the Cats remarks, as the ruins of Finsmere at last come into sight. "They deserve it."

"Of course they do," Yannick replies, a bit more loudly than strictly necessary. "But Rikash doesn't."

The others look variously puzzled and annoyed; but Rikash, riding ahead with the rogue mage under his eye, turns his head and gives her a grateful smile.


	48. That which passeth understanding

Prompt 60 (20 July) – Choice

**Title:** That which passeth understanding

**Words:** 125

**Characters:** Sir Alanna of Trebond & Olau, Lord Thom of Trebond

* * *

"How could you do it? How _could_ you, Thom?" Alanna demands. They've grown apart, she knows that – worlds apart, it now seems; still she struggles to reconcile her beloved brother with the horror he's created.

Thom won't look at her, which perhaps isn't surprising. "You don't understand," he repeats.

"What?" Pleading, and hating herself for it. "What don't I understand?"

"You think I did it on purpose." It seems he's decided to attempt some explanation, after all. "You think I planned … _this_. You don't understand!"

She waits.

"I had no choice," Thom continues, when the silence has gone on past bearing. "I had no choice."

And something breaks, then. "There's always a choice," she says quietly, and leaves the room without a backward glance.

* * *

A/N: I can't actually remember what Alanna and Thom say to one another right at the end of LR, or what the exact sequence of events is; this is just my idea of a conversation they might have had.


	49. Expecting Someone Taller

Prompt 62 (3 August) – Intruder 

**Title: **Expecting Someone Taller

**Words: **310

**Characters: **Miri and Padrach of the Queen's Riders

* * *

"Evin! Evin Larse!" Padrach pounds on his group commander's door with all his might, making (as he will later be told) enough noise to wake the dead. "Evin, you lazy sod, _wake up_!"

All along the corridor doors are flung open and sleep-tousled heads emerge to demand an explanation, to suggest means of breaking in, or simply to tell Padrach to shut his silly head and let them sleep. Evin's door alone remains stubbornly shut and locked.

At last, however, the doorknob rattles, and a crack appears between door and jamb through which there peers a vividly green eye. Padrach recoils: of course it's not unexpected for Evin not to be sleeping alone, but at least he usually opens his own door. And there's something familiar about that particular shade of green …

Now the door swings fully open, and a horribly well-known voice fills Padrach's burning ears. "This had better be important, Padrach Sawyer! It's not even false dawn, and some of us rode in bloody late last night."

It's Miri Fisher to the life, wearing only a woollen blanket and a ferocious glare. He's seen her, over the years, in most stages of undress – but this is different, excruciating, and he wishes he were anywhere else but here.

"M-M-Miri," he manages to stammer through his choking embarrassment. "I was – I was looking for Evin …"

"Obviously." Her tone is scathing. "As it's his room. Did you have a _reason_ for looking for Evin at this hour of the night, or did you just decide to wake everyone up for the fun of it?"

Padrach had a very good reason, of course, but the twenty silver pieces Evin owes him have suddenly become a lot less urgent. "N-no," he says, and then, more firmly, "I'll catch him up later."

"What a _good_ idea," says Miri, and shuts the door.


	50. It's too early to be paying social calls

Prompt 63 (10 August) – Behind the Scenes 

**Title:** "Too Early to Be Paying Social Calls"

**Words:** 399

**Characters:** Kalasin of Conté, Roald of Conté, Thom of Pirate's Swoop

* * *

Kally and Roald, who had to be rousted out of bed at home in Corus, were always up before the sun when visiting the Swoop. Little Thom was an early riser, too, and tagged after them at every opportunity, delighted to have someone more exciting to play with than his baby sister and brother. Today, having managed to get into their clothes and out of the nursery without waking anyone else, the three of them – armed with a basket to collect shells in – set out to walk down the cliffs to the beach, certain they could outwit the Baron's guards on the wall just as easily. 

Whether they were right about this they never discovered. Instead, as they made their way along the wall toward the main gate, Kally's attention was caught by a low, urgent cry. "What's that?" she asked of nobody in particular. Roald said, "What's what?"

"Shut up," said Kally, "and let me listen."

The sound was coming from up ahead, and they crept forward with extra caution. "Look!" Thom whispered suddenly, pointing a chubby finger at what looked, in the chilly dawn light, like a bundle of black and white rags.

The bundle stirred, and then raised a falcony sort of head and opened its beak to make that same low cry.

"What is it?" The three children knelt down and looked at it cautiously. It looked back with round yellow eyes.

"Well, it's some kind of bird," Kally began.

"Of course it's a _bird_," said Thom, witheringly. "D'you think it's sick?"

"Must be," said Roald. "Or hurt, or something."

"What should we do with it?"

"We could take it to my ma," Thom suggested, but the others could tell he thought this was a bad idea. And no wonder – it was awfully early, and the Lioness wasn't likely to be happy if they woke her to heal a bird.

Then Kally had what turned out to be one of her best ideas yet. "I know!" she exclaimed. "We'll take it to that girl – lady – Uncle Numair's new student, you know, that Mama and Aunt Alanna said was a mage."

Thom's hazel eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously. "That's right – my ma said she helps animals! I forgot."

"Maybe she'll let us watch," said Roald hopefully.

It wasn't easy – the bird wasn't happy, and didn't want to get into any basket – but finally they were ready to set out again, back down the way they'd come, to look for Daine.

* * *

**A/N:** missing scene before the scene in chapter 8 of _Wild Magic_ where Daine wakes up to find the three kids staring at her with an osprey in a basket. The title is the first thing she says to them. 


End file.
